As a single woman living in a 350 square foot studio in New York I did something on the no-no list. I took up knitting.
I thought it would be calming; something to keep my hands busy on the subway; cheap presents for the fam come Christmas time. I had read somewhere that Julia Roberts knitted on set. Clearly knitting would be fabulous.
Knitting can also be exactly what you’re thinking though– kind of sad. “Look at that poor spinster knitting her social life away.” Well in for a penny in for a pound, that same year I decided to get a cat.
Despite the fact that my friend Todd said I would never get laid again I began the search for my future feline friend. With my work hours and the fact that for me responsibility meant remembering to get the mail, I knew I couldn’t have a dog. Problem was, I didn’t really want a cat.
I had had two cats growing up. One was named Spy and she was your average cat: hid when the door opened, lurked around corners and contorted her body to avoid physical contact with human kind. If you ever did actually manage to pet her, she would then drool all over your hand. I was not looking for another Spy.
I was looking for a Sam. I’m sure you’ve had your own Sam: the pet that was your best friend; the one who knew all your secrets. You know, the one you would have given a kidney for. Why is it that were stuck with people for so long, and pets have such a short time on earth? I can think of more than a few folks where 10 years together would have been plenty.
Sam wasn’t a cat. He was more like a dog, or a person - a familiar as the poets call them.
I started to make the rounds on adoption days at Petco. Peeking in at the cages, hoping for a sign. Drooler or dog cat? So hard to tell. After an unsuccessful run at the ASPCA I decided to enlist some friends and we headed to the annual adoption event Broadway Barks in the theatre district.
Our first trailer offered a few cat candidates including one rather handsome 5 year-old. By no means was this Old Deuteronomy, but his kitten days were far behind him, which was fine by me. My kitten days were behind me too and my couch was from Bloomies. “What do you think, “ I asked my best friend. “I think this could be it.” Her response: a face.
“But nobody’s going to take him, “ I said. “Everyone wants the cute little ones and I can help give him a home.” Erin had been with me the night Sam passed though and suggested that perhaps the farther away we could get from having that night again anytime soon would be better. Noted.
We wandered around for another hour or so, in and out of doors, and I was beginning to think this sure was a lot of work for social suicide. Our last trailer of the day though we discovered a redheaded female giving some multi-color kittens a bath. I stuck my hand in her cage and she gave me a bath too.
“We’re not sure if those are her kittens,” the attendant said. “She’s just been taking care of them since they all got here.” “That is SO your cat,” Erin replied and she was right. I had been looking for someone to rescue, and instead found Maggie to look after me.